


Rain

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Het, Oral, wet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine You, Haytham Kenway, Rain...and lots of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

Rain. Well great. Your relaxing and gentle evening stroll home has been well and truly ruined as the heavens open with a torrential mid-summer downpour.

Is that thunder you can hear? Oh dear. Sprinting down the slightly muddy pathway you head for the light of a window, dodging puddles as you go. 

Bursting through the heavy wooden panelled door with perhaps a little more enthusiasm than was necessary, your eyes adjust to the gloomy interior as you shake a few stray rainwater drips from your skin and clothing.

The Inn is a bustle of people looking for shelter from the downpour outside and the comfort of alcohol in these troubled times. You decide you will have to wait here a while, your home is not far but hopefully you will be spared a soaking if you wait a few moments and perhaps have a drink.

The cooling rain is causing you to shiver slightly, even in the warm mustiness of the pub as a heavy droplet inadvertently slides down your spin, running underneath you clothing causing a quiver all the way down your back.

Stepping forward and allowing the door to close behind you, you head for the bar. The Inn is busy, filled with people chatting rancorously, music playing in the background and the bawdy yells of men playing cards, drinking and even…fighting. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea you contemplate. Still, you stand, waiting for a few moments as the barman seems to be serving everyone else but you.

Suddenly a rich sarcastic voice drawls from somewhere to your left, ‘raining?’

‘Oh very good, what gave it away?!’ You snap back, perhaps just a little put out by your current predicament. Turning around to the source of the voice you find a man standing with a slight smirk on his lips at his own wit and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He is silently laughing at your reaction.

You watch him as he takes in your appearance and you self-consciously think he is judging, from the fact you have been caught in the rain and are unlikely looking your best at the moment. You shoot him an angry look as he is served first.

‘My apologies, poor humour.’ He smiles again, just the briefest quirks of lip that give the impression he is not sorry at all. Smug bastard.

As he turns his back you sneak a glance at him. Tall, well dressed, very neat and presentable, with a large sword hanging by his hip. This man is obviously fairly well off, you muse, judging by his clothing and manner. Even in the grimy Inn there is a shine to his knee high boots and he gives the impression he owns the very ground you are walking on. 

The stranger’s sleek dark hair is pinned back in a ponytail, secured by a bright red ribbon. You take in his broad shoulders, narrow waist, long, lean legs, definitely not a bad arse on him. You admit it; you do look, as this man clearly takes care of his appearance.

He turns back, offering you a glass. You stare down at the proffered tumbler a little confused for mere moments; he has got you a drink?

‘Allow me,’ He says.

Your mind cautions you; you do not even know him. ‘No thank you, I am more than capable of getting my own.’

His eyebrows rise at your reaction, that damned smirk is back as if everything you say is for his own personal amusement. He places both glasses back on the counter before reaching out to take one of your hands in his. He raises it gently to his face, placing a small kiss on the back of it.

‘Haytham Kenway, at your service, madam. Now you know who I am, perhaps we can become more acquainted as you…dry off.’

He holds the previously offered drink back in your direction. Well there doesn’t seem to be any harm in him.

‘Why?’ You ask, puzzled as to why this man should introduce himself, finally taking the glass from him.

‘You seemed to need it and a lady should not be drinking in here, at least not unaccompanied.’

You are about to protest that you do not need his ‘protection’ when you catch sight of a ragged figure slumped against the far wall between the bar and the door. Bleary eyes and a rather nasty smell coming from him, he is sloshing ale all over the place and yelling at the barman he will cut him if he doesn’t get another drink over here now. Perhaps Mr Kenway has a point.

Without waiting for further response Haytham gently takes a hold of your elbow and steers you away from any unpleasantness, farther into the room.

‘Here, sit by the hearth, it should have you dry in no time.’

You notice he shoos away a few individuals from a table closest to the Inn’s fire and make note that they leave without hesitation, merely a sullen backward glance at the rather imposing figure silhouetted by fire light. As you take a seat he solicitously holds your chair out for you.

‘Who says I am a lady anyway,’ you tease him as he takes a seat himself. Haytham merely smiles.

You try to keep a professional, formal posture while he seems to lounge in the chair, curled around it with a boneless ease like a cat. His hat has been placed on the table top as he rests his chin in the heel of his hand, giving you his undivided attention while toying his drink in his other.

Now you manage to sneak a good look at his face framed by the firelight, stunned that he is actually a very handsome man with a strong jaw, deep blue eyes, and full sensuous mouth. You catch yourself; you have been staring at his mouth and have noticed his quirk of flicking his tongue out to lick them every so often. It is giving them a permanent glossy look which is becoming his bottom lip to be sucked. It is clear that Haytham has no idea of his habit, but you being to watch it eagerly. 

Glancing down does not provide a distraction; he is lazily trailing long, elegant fingers up and down his glass; you squirm slightly in your seat.

‘Why are you here, my dear?’ he asks, indicating the less than impressive surroundings.

You explain that you were heading home and got caught in the rain and sought refuge in the warmth of the Inn hoping that it may abate soon. Haytham nods understandingly, continuing to pursue you with questions.

‘You live near here?’

That voice! It is pleasing to your ears, he is barely talking above a whisper but you catch every word he is saying.

‘Fairly close, yes,’ you reply, trying to focus on the drink in front of you than the rather attractively distracting man who had clearly decided his new goal in life is to be a complete and utter distraction to you.  
‘And you were walking home-alone?!’ His tone is incredulous.

You scowl slightly at him ‘Yes, and I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you Mister Kenway.’

He runs a hang over his face attempting, and failing, to hide his bark of laughter.

‘Oh, I don’t doubt that for one instant.’

He leans forward in his chair, lips almost pressed to your ear as his warm breath tickles along you skin. You inhale deeply, breathing in the sharp smell of cedar and musk from him.  
‘You are hiding a knife under that dress,’ he practically purrs.

You move back from him, a little startled. Searching his face, you only find mischievous twinkling eyes. He winks at you as he looks down, your gaze follows his and you realise. The rain has obviously wet your clothing causing patches to cling where they normally wouldn’t. You blush as you comprehend the reason he can see the small item you carry for personal safety and further flush at what else may have been on view to everyone here.

Haytham chuckles, a rich deep sound that rubs along your skin almost like fur.

‘Don’t worry my dear, I am trained to look for these things, I doubt anyone else here would notice and no one is staring at you.’

You glance around the Inn, he is right; at least you are not making a public show.

Haytham downs his drink in one getting ready to rise from his chair.

‘I will walk you home.’ His tone is very much like a command as he reaches a hand down to pull you to your feet. You stare at the offered hand; it is a large hand, strong, the faint outline of callouses from tough manual work, no doubt swordplay judging by the one at his belt. You wonder if you should let a strange man you just met walk you home.

‘But it is still raining,’ you protest.

Haytham removes his own cloak and wraps it around your shoulders, the fabric is heavy and the garment slightly swamps you but it smells of him and is deliciously warm from the heat of his body.  
At the door of the inn you both stare out into the dark night sky, it is still raining heavily and there is a faint crack of thunder far in the distance. Without warning he grabs your hand and tugs, pulling you both out into the downpour.

You both run, splashing through puddles towards a large impressive oak tree farther down the dirt road. Haytham drags you under it as you lean against the tree trunk breathing heavy from your dash as he pours water from the top of his hat. He looks unimpressed.

You giggle at him and his expression, ‘Well I did warn you about the rain.’

He smirks before placing his hat back on, he raises a challenging eyebrow at you before taking your hand again and plucking you back out from the shelter into the rain. You both laugh as he slightly slips in the mud, just keeping his feet as he aims for another area of cover. As you stop for breath again he rests against you, leaning forward ever so slightly to keep dry under the branches. His fingers brush your cheek as he gently tugs his cloak more securely around you.

You laugh, more inwardly to yourself than anything else, wondering why you have allowed a strange man to pull you out into a thunder storm to dash from cover to cover in the pouring rain.   
Gazing at him you spot small rivulets of water running along his jaw and have an unexpected urge to lick it off his skin. He doesn’t notice your intense stare, he is standing tall apparently searching the area around you. You notice that he has spotted something.

With a mischievous grin Haytham has you running again as the pair of you slip through a field and through the partial open door of a barn. Inside is empty except a few chickens taking shelter in the far corner and the smell of hay which is piled high within.

Easing back lightly against the rough wooden wall you shake his coat slightly letting the worst of the rainwater pool on the floor. As you glance back up Haytham is suddenly in front of you, one arm braces against the wall beside your head as he edges closer. He encircles you within his damp body, deep eyes boring down into yours. You know what he is going to do as he leans closer and decide that you don’t really want to make an effort to stop him. 

You swallow as a small pulse in your neck beats frantically as this enticing man swoops, lips inching towards your own. You close your eyes as lips connect a small satisfied sight escaping.

The first kiss is chase; a gentle flutter of his soft lips against yours, as he pulls away he gently sucks your bottom lip, tugging ever so lightly on it. 

You open your eyes; his face is mere inches from yours.

‘I will stop if you want me to,’ his voice is pleading, indicated that it is the last thing he wants you to say to him.

‘I will still take you safely home.’

You don’t want him to stop, that kiss was far too good and the fluttering in your stomach demands more from this smug aristocratic man who rescues women from pubs and takes them out running in the rain.  
You shake your head no, not trusting your voice; he smiles, almost shyly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in pleasure. He leans in again to captures your lips. The kiss is still soft, hesitant, but now he inclines more of his body in against yours, allowing you to feel the warm line of him, slightly damp clothing pressing against your own and beginning to create friction along your body.

A small moan escapes your lips, you can’t help it. Haytham uses this as an invitation to press his advantage, sliding his tongue into your mouth and dancing along your own in slow, sensuous movements. His right hand rests gently at your waist massaging in leisurely, gentle circles that send tingling sensation down to your toes with just the promise of what his skilful hands may be able to do.

His kissing is languid and unhurried, as if he has all the time in the world for this and cannot get enough of your mouth. Your head spins, you can’t remember the last time a man thoroughly snogged you for no purpose other than he was thoroughly enjoying it. The circular motion of his hand is distracting, heat is pooling in your groin and you are eager for something more.

Sensing impatience now, Haytham's body pushed more forcefully into you, throwing you off balance slightly as he slides a knee between your thighs, rubbing the fabric along the inside you your legs. You are eager to have him, his smell is intoxicating and his mouth on yours is making you lightheaded. Sliding hands under his jacket you come into contact with the silk of his waistcoat, caressing the smooth fabric you can feel the head radiate off his body chasing away the rain-chill on your own.

Haytham’s mouth leaves yours allowing you to breathe deeply, chest rising and falling rapidly, but his skilful mouth is not gone for long as he trails kisses along your jawline to your neck. His head is buried in the crook of yours as lips, and very gently, teeth, attack the exposed area of you neck, sucking on the sensitive flesh before soothing it gently with his tongue.

His hands skim your clothed body, gliding lightly across breasts, thighs, stomach, hips, eager yet hesitant in their exploration, fingers digging in to slightly caress flesh before pulling away to find another sensitive spot.

Haytham’s head dips lower as he nibbles on your collar bone, he rolls his eyes up watching you and your reaction and he trails a tongue across the mound of your breast causing a shiver and a small breathy groan of pleasure. He purposefully sinks his teeth into the flesh leaving a perfect imprint of him on your skin.

You slid your hands up pushing his jacket eagerly off his shoulders as he does the same with the cape he so generous draped over you earlier. He only pulls back a few meters to throw his jacket on the floor and unbuckle his belt but the loss of warmth from him is a shock as cool air blows across your skin. 

Haytham removes his own waistcoat and you watch eagerly the bunch and tense of his muscles as he does a slow, sensuous strip of his body. His shirt follows the jacket and waistcoat so that now all he is left with is his breeches and boots. Your eyes rack appreciatively over his body, a defined torso, a smattering of dark hair across his chest that circles his navel before plunging into his trousers…you lick your lips in anticipation at the bulge now tenting the front of his remaining clothing.

His eyes are hooded, his arousal evident as a few short strides and he is back with you, covering your body with the delicious one of his own, arms wrapping tightly around you. You brace your hands on his chest, warming them as his lips are fervently seeking yours.

His kisses are now more demanding and insistent, any hesitation now gone along with clothing as he gives the impression he wants you, needs this, more than anything. Haytham’s tongue demands entrance, fighting with your own for dominance as his body does the same.

Fingers wander upwards, starting innocently down at your knee, they draw a small fiery line of pleasure up the inside of your thigh, inching ever closer to your centre. An index finger brushes your most intimate area and you gasp at the sensation, a small sigh of disappointment as he pulls away teasing, rubbing and caressing your thighs and ass and not the area begging for attention.

‘More’ you mutter against his lips and you can feel the predatory smile on his own. Haytham’s hand is back at the apex of your thighs. His fingers caress you outside your underwear and you can feel the wetness of your arousal begin to dampen them. He slides one index finger underneath; the silken scrape of his finger across your hood almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Your thighs quiver in disappointment as his hand is removed only to be replaced by the firm line of his body. His cock, hard through his breeches, is pressing against the front of you; he flexes his hips back and forth creating wonderful friction low in your groin. His body is heavy, pushing firmly against yours, your back pressed further against the hard wood of the barn wall. 

He continues to buck his hips, heightening your arousal but not enough, not enough for you, you need more of him.

He begins to remove your damp clothing, the wet scrape of the fabric across your skin causing you to shiver. Finally naked before him, you seem a little self-conscious but his eyes are honest and his look is nothing but desire. 

Haytham sinks to his knees in front of you gazing up the line of your body, ensuring he has your full attention for what he is about to do. He looks delicious like that, you think, on his knees at your feet. Strong hands part your thighs a little wider, it is an odd angle but pressed against the wall and being held by him, makes it a little easier to keep your balance.

Haytham places gentle nibbles up the inside of your thigh. Starting at one side, he kisses to between your legs, gently brushing the lips of your pussy, his nose caressing your clit and causing your hips to buck outwards before torturing you by moving away to kiss down the other leg.

He smirks at your verbal protest at his teasing before moving back to the area that demands his attention. His tongue slides into your folds lapping gently at the moist flesh, probing ever so gently at your opening. Your hips flex under his ministrations, his mouth finally encloses around your clit and he sucks in ever increasing pressure. 

You reach out to tangle fingers in his hair, freeing long dark tendrils from the ribbon. His pleasure caused you to throw your head back, fingers tugging, another hand braces on his shoulder for support. You don’t think your legs will hold you as his mouth sucks expertly or the pad of his tongue rubs your sensitive nub tightening every muscle low in your body.

He is good at this, very good. You try, but fail, to stop your hips bucking against the source of your pleasure, trying not to discourage him from the delicious actions of his mouth. He doesn’t need any encouragement, Haytham is doing just fine on his own as your mind wanders in bliss.

You are so close, a warm pressure is growing in the pit of your stomach, his right hand is gentle caressing your thigh as his talented tongue works away, and you almost miss it. A gentle caress up your thigh, fingers brush against you gently. He waits, looking for the opportune moment. After a particularly forceful lick he slides two fingers into your body, the penetration pushing you over the edge as your body tightens around him, his name pouring from you lips as you come around his mouth.

A few gentle licks send aftershocks through your body before he pulls away and gets to his feet. Your legs feel like jelly and you wonder how much longer you can stand as he is back before you, a satisfied smile on his lips. Those beautiful lips are wet from his oral activity and he watches you as he raises his hand to his mouth, sucking your wetness from his own fingers.

Haytham reaches for you, kissing deeply and you and you can taste yourself on him as he dips his well-worn tongue into your mouth.

Haytham begins unbuttoning the front of his breech, before he finishes you reach in, eager. Sliding a hand down the front of his trousers it encloses on a firm, warm erection, noting that he is big and hard and glorious. He twitches slight in your hand as you pull him free from the confines of his trousers, delighting in the small sight escaping his lips and his eyes fluttering closed as you do so. You feel powerful; his breathing is now that one that is hitched, he is eager for you and stands passively as you caress him.

You begin to stroke his cock teasing out long pulls, rolling a thumb over the head and smearing his pre-come across it. Haytham is enjoying you actions, he is biting his lip, head thrown back, dark hair in disarray from your tugging at it earlier and you can see his chest rise and fall rapidly as you increase the pressure around him.

He suddenly pulls you hand away, his fingers curling around your waist as he walks you back, pressing you against the wall. The hard line of his body is pushed against yours, almost as if he were trying to push you through the wall to the other side. You can still hear the heavy patter of rain outside and the occasional rumble of thunder as he places his hands under your thighs and pulls you upwards.

You eagerly wrap your legs around his waist, knowing you are both nearly finished and eager to have the full length of his prick inside you. Haytham's strong hands support you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders sliding as much of your skin along his as possible. He teases you, running the tip of his cock through your pussy, sliding past the entrance, never quite pushing forward to enter fully. He grins as you whimper in frustration.

A quick flex of hips and he sinks into you with a welcome groan, plunging as deeply as he can go in one long, fluid movement. He fills you completely, stretching you slightly and you love it. 

Haytham sets a brutal pace, your body already slick and wet from your earlier orgasm you are more than ready for him as strong hips push him into you over and over. You look at him, his eyes are closed, he is concentrating on his rhythm, on not coming too quickly, but his face is a mask of pleasure, earlier lines or wrinkles smooth and easy now. 

He rolls his hips, grinding his pubic bone against you clit with every thrust, eager for you to experience more pleasure but there is no need, the thudding of his cock into you, rubbing along your inner walls is building a deep pressure again in your groin.

Your arms leaves his neck, flung out and stretched wide, scrambling at the wood, looking desperately for something to grip, to hold onto, but there is nothing.

‘Touch yourself’ he murmurs into your ear softly ‘I want to feel you come around me’

Eagerly you sneak a hand down the front of your body finding your already sensitive slit swollen and firm; you begin to rub yourself in time with his thrusts. A few strokes has you crying out in pleasure around him, body tightening, your legs and stomach quiver. Burying your head into the crook of his neck muffles your cries of pleasure as you rack your nails down his shoulder.

Haytham doesn’t mind the small pain, he is making deep, grunting noises low in his throat, his hips have lost all sense of rhythm as his body pistons into yours desperately seeking its own release. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your forehead, before finally capturing your lips with his in a bruising and demanding kiss. His groans are lost into your mouth as you helplessly wrap your sated body around his, the hard wood of the barn scratching you back as he pummels you against hit. 

He stills, coming into your body, his gasp lost in your mouth as fingers dig painfully into your thigh during the moment of his release. You know you will have small finger shaped bruises there tomorrow.

You are panting, body sated and satisfied. Haytham stands there, leaning against you and the wall for a few moments, regaining his breath. He stiffly pulled away with a final heated kiss to your lips, setting you gently on you own shaky legs. His softening cock slips from you with a small wet pop and you can feel a mixture of your orgasm and his on your thighs.

Haytham tugs your hand gently pulling you, unsteadily across to a pile of dry, warm hay. He snuggles you both together and heaves his jacket over as a makeshift blanket against the chill of the weather and cooling sweat on your bodies. 

He nuzzles your neck ‘I’m still walking you home. Just-just perhaps let me catch my breath first’

You smile at him and give him a small laugh as a large tanned forearm cuddles around your waist, pulling you against the front of his chest; you drawl lazy patterns across the skin of his arm with your finger as his foot idly strokes yours. Giving him a sassy smirk, you lean back for a kiss: 

‘When we get home,’ you say, ‘We are doing this again, in a bed.’

~ End


End file.
